There was a man in the front in Oakleys and work boots playing the cello with his six other identical sisters and brothers.

A small child in a backpack decided to rub theapple that was on my table. That backpack was attacted to a leash. She kept petting the apple. I lost my patience.

All around was the sound of PAWP PAWP, from the pop guns and pop explosives and popping gum.

The noise echoed up and down and around the town as I ran my way through the opening booths, the first gyro stands opening up, the smell of grease and peppers hot in the ten-o-clock air.

Lost Highway and their cowboy yodels as I squeezed lemon after lemon, like doing a fist pump over and over until all the lemony goodness was out.

Haggling with vendors.

Getting extra apples for being sweet to the farm vendors.

Feeling like a zombie as I eat my chicken on a stick and wander down through the streets, emptying their crowds as the vendors close up.

Watching the fireworks through the front windows as the street dance blared dance music and the train flew by.

Eating too many scones.

Going to the Texas Inn for the first time. I don't care how gross the cooks look, it's so awesome to sit at a counter in a real diner where they have their own language. "Cheesy plain with a Denver and an Apple" (pie), that is.

The marching band at the Teddy Bear parade.

Coming home, and sleeping it off.